Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Snapshots

I spent about five days in Bucharest, days that were very busy, from early morning to late evening, which is very unusual for me (late evenings, that is). I can’t (and I don’t think it makes sense to) tell the stories in chronological order. I tell them as I remember them.

L’Obeur, mon amour (Obor, my love)

Fresh apple juice, made from a single variety or a mixture of apples, quinces, pears, and a little ginger! I asked the vendor (whose name is Doru, and I remember that because my father’s name was Doru), “Which one has less sugar and is a good choice for diabetics?” He looked at me as if he didn’t understand the question, but after a brief moment of hesitation, pointed to a bottle and said, “This one!” He didn’t explain why, but that was his choice. I smiled to myself and bought it. The next day, I passed by his booth, and next to the juice was a new label: “Apple juice for diabetics! Very little sugar!”

I broke my promise to use only pictures from this year and also inserted some older pictures in the film.

I grew up in the neighborhood, and for this trip I booked an Airbnb in the same area. The tradition is that, after I land, the very next morning I go to Obor, but this year the first trip was to Hulubești, then to Brașov. I only got to Obor on the third day to get sheep’s cheese, Covasna bread, and some vegetables for the Danube Delta trip. This year I didn’t go to the Obor Terrace to eat mititei, but, during the last few years, I ate so many [mici] that, on an yearly average, I’m good for decades to come.

Agricultural fair

I have a special talent for discovering all kinds of places with food. I was coming from Cișmigiu Gardens and taking the bus to Obor. I had already walked for about three hours. For me, it was quite a lot, and I was very tired. I spent my high school years exploring the Gardens’ alleys and riding the boats (oh, the high school memories!). Now, I was aimlessly roaming the same alleys, trying to find some of the old times’ charm. I had left through the back of the park, through Sărindar Street, passing by Capșa Restaurant, The Army Performing Arts Center, and the University of Bucharest. I had strategically avoided the Humanitas bookstore and, finally, at Michael’s Tail, I managed to get on the bus.

At the Department of Agriculture building, music, entertainment, dancing, food, “Agricultural Fair of Traditional Products,” as a huge banner splashed on the whole building proclaimed so extravagantly that even I saw it from the bus. So I saw it, and, since it was about products, and not just any kind of products but traditional ones, my tiredness disappeared like magic. I jumped off the bus and went to see what it was all about. I don’t really like Romanian country music, but the music there was really good. Of course, I made a little movie, stitched some clips together, took some pictures, bought some wine after asking a friend of mine, “Would you like rosé or red?,” and, after  she said, “Yes,” I got a bottle of each. I also bought a liter of must (freshly-in-front-of-you squeezed grape juice) that I drank when I got to the apartment, with some fresh pastrami bought from a butcher in Obor, which had an almost instant effect on my digestive system (the must, not the pastrami), and I stayed in the house most of the evening. Key word – most.

During the evening, I got an invitation for a casual walk in the City. Naturally, I couldn’t say no, and that’s how I ended up bumping into a couple of Germans, Dragoș’s buddies, with whom I hung out a few more times. The guy was a true blue German, with ancestry that goes way back. The lady, on the other hand, hailed from Israel, a hundred percent Israeli for countless generations. Normally, these details wouldn’t matter much, but here’s the interesting part: the lady’s mom, who’s also a grandma, happens to be a great-grandma too, and she’s a tough officer in the Israeli army, actually fighting battles. Pretty interesting.

Popescu, a fine critic of culinary arts!

So, there were three Romanians and two Germans walking around Bucharest, looking for a place to eat. It’s like the start of a joke, right? We checked out Victory Way, The Athenaeum (where we were denied entry because of some gathering of IT guys discussing IT stuff), The Palace Square, The University Square, The National Bank, and the old/new Marmorosch Hotel. Finally, we ended up in the Old Town at Caru’ cu Bere, where we miraculously found an empty table! The only downside was that we had to sit outside, and it was a bit chilly and windy. But hey, it’s Caru’ Cu Bere (The Beer Wagon), a place where it’s usually hard to find a seat, so we decided to tough it out.

As the ladies started shivering, we finally understood why we were able to get a table so easily. The staff kindly brought ladies a blanket, and to warm us up, we were offered some ţuică. I hoped that it would be “on the house,” like the good guys at Sergiana in Brasov do, but, nope, it was added to the bill.

However, when it came to the food… let’s just say it left a lot to be desired. Some might argue it was pretty bad, while others might say it was only fairly good. I guess it depends on whether you see the glass half full or half empty. The place had definitely lost some of its old charm since the last time I went there as a student. Nowadays, it’s more of a tourist attraction. The interior is still beautiful, with a folklore program and live entertainment to keep the tourists entertained. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, but you could see a hint of confusion in their eyes. Something was off about the food, like it just wasn’t up to par. Personally, I felt a bit embarrassed by the whole experience. The folks at Caru’ cu Bere, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. The dessert, the papanași, was good, and I finally saw our guests smiling large, enchanted smiles, although I have to admit, I’ve had better at Hanul Berarilor (the Brewers’ Inn).

Well, at least going to Caru’ cu Bere gives you the opportunity to check out the place and maybe take a restroom break. Trust me, it’s worth it just for that!

We totally washed away our shame in two days at the Hanul Berarilor Casa Elena Lupescu (Brewers’ Inn), on Pache Protopopescu Blvd, right across from Michael The Brave High School. We’d been there a few days before when I came back from Hulubești, with Lady A. (another friend, who happens to be a girl), and we just had this impromptu get-together with my buddies, Dragoș, Sanda, and Lady F. I was very happy that they all showed up. We absolutely loved the vibe, the food was on point, and the papanasi were a hundred times better than the ones at Caru’ cu Bere. Well, maybe not a hundred times, but this is the saying.

Now that we got to the topic of restaurants, Lady A. and I decided to check out this cool little joint called Bistro HB. Some dude who was puffing away outside another closed joint recommended it to us. Matăsari Street is packed with restaurants, I’ve been to a few over the years, but this one was new to us. And we loved it! The food was very good, especially these excellent plum dumplings, and the prices were decent, nothing out of the ordinary. And outta’ nowhere, this adorable little kitten hops up on the chair next to us and starts chillin’. My heart just melted.

The Picasso Effect

At the Museum of Recent Art (MARe), until January 8th, 2024, there is a very special exhibition called Efectul Picasso (The Picasso Effect).

What is Obor’s yokel left with after seeing 46 works by Picasso? Actually with an even greater misunderstanding of the artist than before. In other words, I came stupid and I left stupider, and with a picture of a very well endowed animal (this was easy for my brain to process), and with the memory of a work of “art” the size of a wall, with many lady tampons stained with blue ink, which annoyed me exceedingly. Well, if that was Picasso’s effect on the Romanian artist, maybe I was better off not understanding anything, but at least I didn’t pretend, either.

The exhibition is spread across three floors, and they’ve got these cool colored bands to show you where to go: pink for going up, blue for going down. So, on the top floor, just as the pink path ended, and we were about to head down the blue path, I spotted this young lady holding a chunky book with blue covers and pink pages, same colors as the bands. It just pops out at me, and, without thinking much, I blurt out, “Hey Miss, did the cover of that book change from pink to blue as you came up here?” Her expression was priceless: she looked at me surprised and started stuttering. I mumbled something about how young people can’t handle anything longer than a tweet and walked away. Later, my friend asked what I had said to the girl, so I spilled the beans. She stared at me for a long moment and finally confided, “I totally get her. If I were her, I would’ve punched you in the head.”

And because the day wasn’t over yet, I kept blabbering when I walked into this fancy perfume shop called Madison Perfumery. Let me tell you, they considered a €400 perfume to be nothing. It was one of those fancy schmancy personalized perfumes that sticks to your body for three days straight, the kind that a saleswoman with a fancy degree in Chemistry, Psychology, and Olfactory Sciences recommends. Bam! Obor’s bumpkin walks into the shop and the girl asks, “What can I show you, sir?” She sizes me up and down a couple of times, clearly not impressed by my face or my clothes. But she found me browsing through the beard oil section, where you can get a bottle for just 80 Euros an ounce. So she gives it a shot, but I look at her and blurt out, “Nah, I don’t want anything. I gotta hurry to Obor ’cause the butchers are closing and I need some pastrami.” Suddenly, there’s this silent interaction happening between us. Her posh face is saying, “What are you doing here, you broke fool?”, and I’m like, “Hey, I was just curious! I stumbled upon this store and thought I’d check it out!” Naturally, my friend next to me gives me the look that says, “you absolutely asked for it”.

I left, feeling, again, like I am in the wrong line of work and that my degrees are worthless. Holding onto the last tattered shreds of my dignity, we strolled down Floreasca Way, and the Dorobanti neighborhood, checking out those awesome houses along the back streets. Those houses in those old areas are totally worth the walking by!

The Last Day

And then, bam! The last day was upon me! It was a wild, busy one. It started by scrambling to pack my bags and ended, well, with me really packing my bags!

The Village Museum

Last minute morning shopping at Mega Image (a supermarket) turned out to be a breeze (short list, familiar layout). My friend’s brother-in-law finally showed up at the last minute to collect the package (after I had waited for him, like an idiot, for 10 days). Around noon, I arrived at the Village Museum with Dragoș, accompanied by his wife, Sanda, and the two Germans from the story. Every time I visit Romania, it’s an absolute joy to explore this magnificent Museum. It’s like stepping into a vast park filled with traditional houses from every region of Romania. I have countless cherished memories of visiting this place with my Dad. Moreover, the Village Museum is conveniently located near Herăstrău Park. If my legs are up to it, I take a stroll around the park and embrace the beauty that surrounds me.

So, guess what we stumbled upon this time at the Village Museum? A super cool Roma festival, or maybe even a fair! It had talented Roma craftsmen and some kickass brass band music. Curious and curiouser, nice and nicer!

“ROM(a)NOR Interferences” is a cultural project implemented by the “Dimitrie Gusti” National Village Museum in collaboration with Anno Museum from Norway. The project has a duration of 24 months and will run from January 1st, 2022 to December 31, 2023. It is a journey through time and space to promote, enhance and revitalize the Romani cultural heritage. The project is addressed to the Roma minority as a whole and to the visiting public in Romania and Norway, with the aim of improving the situation of the Roma population.  
source – https://romanorinterferences.ro/

The Zece Prăjini brass band was playing – they are famous, they tour abroad, sold out venues, I’m surprised they were here. The spectators were having a blast, dancing, enjoying themselves.

We strolled amidst the charming houses, paying visits to the skilled craftsmen along the way. During our walks, I even purchased a wooden ax specifically for chopping eggplants. As I approached the gentleman’s booth, some friendly Romanian men unexpectedly joined the conversation:

“What is the purpose of the ax, my friend?” one of them curiously inquired.
“To kick his wife in the head,” says another, laughing.
“To chop the eggplants,” Sanda explained patiently.

I had a delightful conversation with this gentleman’s daughter, and his passion for working with wood is absolutely infectious! It’s truly incredible how much he adores it. Not only does he find joy in honing his own skills, but he also takes immense pleasure in imparting his knowledge to others. However, she said, once he starts talking about it, there’s no stopping him! He will happily share his expertise with you all day long.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget to mention the fascinating encounter I had with these snow white Norwegian gypsies, who were selling the most exquisite knives. Although they were a bit pricey, they were undeniably impressive!

Mrs. Panseluta Feraru and her band delighted the audience with a delightful mini-recital during the event. It was a joy to see her talented son accompanying her on the accordion.

Towards the end, I had the good fortune to purchase six beautiful cherry wood spoons from a kind-hearted Roma craftsman. Upon looking at me, he curiously asked me who the spoons were for (6, 9, 12 – the numbers mean something in our religion). What the spoons were for, he knew immediately, but for whom, he didn’t know. As I told him, his eyes welled up with tears. Embracing me warmly, he offered words of encouragement, urging me to stay strong and assuring me that no greater misfortune would ever befall me.

The Restaurant, again

At noon(ish) towards the evening, we arrived at Hanu Berarilor Casa Elena Lupescu, and here the guests noticed that almost only Romanian was spoken in the restaurant (unlike Caru’ cu Bere, where it was like the United Nations), and they said, “This is the way. We eat where the locals eat.” And they really liked it. They didn’t fight over the papanasi anymore; they had learned their lesson, and each took a portion. (Dragoș told me that, at every restaurant, they only had papanasi for dessert. They were crazy about them.)

The Play

In the evening I was invited to see a play at a local theater. Lady F. definitely wanted to raise my cultural level at least a little, and so, in the 11th hour, she bought tickets to an opening night, coincidentally near Mătăsari Street, where there was a big event.

In the theatre hall (small and independent), there were sculptures and modern art. Having endured The Picasso Effect, and now the experience of the New Theatre, I think it’s a conspiracy. Friends really want to help me understand modern art, to no success whatever, unfortunately.

Men on Mătăsari

This street event is a delightful display of camaraderie and inclusivity (my hopeful perspective), thoughtfully organized by the organization Women on Mătăsari for Men. I believe it provides an opportunity for everyone, regardless of gender, to come together, celebrate, and feel a sense of belonging.

Ah, the sweet symphony of music and the spectacle of fairs and festivals! I love the noise, the crowds, the energy. It’s like a party for the ears and eyes, where traditional and modern art collide in a harmonious clash of creativity. From those who dress to impress and turn heads, or to others who prefer a more “au naturel” approach, it’s a feast for the eyes. Some folks strut their stuff with boldness, while others aim to attract attention like a magnet. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and boy, do we have a colorful bunch at these gatherings! With their cheerful vibes and unquenchable thirst for fun, they make every festival an unforgettable experience.

And amidst the booming beats blasting from the speakers, and the intoxicating aroma of food that reminded me of Arizona, I bid farewell to Lady F. with a brief, inconspicuous goodbye, lest anyone notice my teary eyes. Then, I whisked myself away to the apartment, where I embarked on two absolutely riveting hours of packing and devouring every last remnant lurking in the fridge. Who knew leftovers could be so thrilling and fulfilling!

I finally squeezed everything into my suitcases. The only thing I was worried about was not having them weigh a ton. Well, let’s just say they were definitely on the heavier side.

Luckily for me, the British Airways check-in crew decided to turn a blind eye to the fact that my luggage was a tad heavier than it should have been. They generously allow the passengers to carry 20 kg of goodies in their trollers (that’s  a fancy Romanian name for hand luggage, the carry-on). Now, picture this: trying to hoist a 20 kg suitcase over your head in the narrow aisle of an airplane. It’s a symphony of complaint – the passenger moans, the flight attendant groans, and the plane, equally sociable, moans and groans its own accompaniment, just for that sake of participation.

I’ve only had something that heavy once before, when I hauled the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica to America (yes, all the volumes, hardcover, on luxurious paper… in Romanian). My dear old dad had gifted it to me, and I was incredibly proud. When a burly man offered to help me with the suitcase, I cheerfully revealed its contents: “Books!” I proclaimed. He couldn’t believe it, and jokingly quipped, “Are you sure there are no stones in there?” Nope, just good old books, my friend.

But here’s the twist: when the check-in agent saw the weight of my little suitcase, the look on his face was priceless – a mix of horror and relief for the poor airplane. He swooped in, took the bag away from me, and waived any extra charges. If only I had known, I would have gladly taken along that last bottle of wine and even the half bottle of Sheridan that I couldn’t finish!

Glossary of Terms

Papanași (pronounced pa-pa-nashi) – The ultimate comfort dessert-exuberant and rustic, papanași are the great big ending to any Romanian meal. We say that they are a bit like life: sweet, sour, round, and imperfect. The doughnuts must be light and not too sweet, since most of the sweetness comes from the jam. Be generous with the jam and crème fraîche. It’s all a balancing act, but in the end you add as much of each topping as you wish. I love the sour cherry jam, so I’m biased. In the summer, I replace the crème fraîche with a dollop of ice cream.

Source: Irina Georgescu – Carpathia

Mititei (or Mici) – the most popular authentic Romanian street food! Mititei or Mici are little sausages without any casings made with ground meat and spices, and are usually served with lots of mustard, bread and a cold beer. They’re juicy, plump, delicious and really easy to make!

Source: https://www.jocooks.com/

Mătăsari Street – Mătăsari neighborhood is one of the oldest neighborhoods in Bucharest. Don’t expect too much of it. There are a few streets, few houses and lots of stories. Today, it’s known as a place of loose morals but it was brought back to life, to reveal us a small part of Bucharest history. Here, in Mãtãsari, about 300 years ago, many silk merchants came and settled here. There was no electricity, nor street numbering, you could only guide yourself by the targets (slop, church etc.), “home” being a relative term here. It was a life full with everything: small businesses, love stories and scandals.

Source: https://chiqueromania.com/foray-in-matasari-slum/